


only blues

by wolfodder



Category: VIXX
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hongbin goes through a lot, Hongbin-centric, Mention of blood, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 19:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18212678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfodder/pseuds/wolfodder
Summary: When a mission fails, Hongbin's world falls apart. Lost and scared, he is given a new chance at life, but has to deal with the pain and guilt of his past — and find out who he wants to be now.





	only blues

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back! i've been working on this fic on and off for _so_ long, it's such a relief to finally be done with it and put it out into the world! please note that this fic is about recovering from PTSD, which i don't have any personal experience with, so i hope it's well done despite that!  
> enjoy <3

The dark of the night is perfect cover. In a quiet city, where most people stay in their homes at night, he's waiting for someone special who won't come home tonight.

He watches from the shadows, waiting, waiting, patient. This is a game he's used to; he might wait for a long time. This time, however, he knows he won't. He knows his quarry's habits. The target, CHY630, is a member of the rebel group, and should be on his way home from a meeting.

His bosses aren’t very happy with the rebels. They tend to be too much of a bother. But as long as he knows where the target is, the Mercenary doesn't care about the reason he’s hunting them.

There he is. The target. Dressed in black, hood over his head, walking along the road, blissfully ignorant of the fate about to befall him. If he knew, he might beg for his life, or, knowing rebels, try to fight back. Futile, of course. The Mercenary never misses a target.

He will have to time his attack; there is another person nearby wearing similar clothes who will definitely see this man be killed if he’s not careful. So he stalks them both from the shadows, drawing his knife and waiting for the right moment to strike.

The first error is in the moment his shoe scuffs on the pavement, giving away his position. He hears only a small gasp before the target begins to run. The other person, confused, turns around and sees him with a knife in his hand and poised for attack — and follows the target at breakneck speed. So does the Mercenary, but the two are surprisingly quick; they disappear behind a corner.

Allowing that to happen is the second mistake.

He rounds the corner only a second after the two others. The one furthest away from him is his target. Speeding up, he manages to catch up and grab him by the hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate to jam the knife into his back, all concern for stealth abandoned. Others will be inside by now, anyway.

The man staggers to a halt, gasping when the knife cuts into him. He falls into his killer’s arms, hood falling off his head.

It’s not CHY630. He _knows_ CHY630’s face from the files, and this is not him. It’s an innocent. He’s entirely wrong.

Looking around him, the other person is nowhere to be seen. He lost him. He failed. Failed? No, he can’t do that. He never fails a mission.

What does he do now?

He drags the dying man out of the street. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking at the man gasp. Why would he say that? He never apologizes. He mentally waves the question off. “You’re the wrong guy.” Brandishing his knife again, crouching and holding him down as he struggles, the mercenary finishes him off with a slit of the throat.

As he stands back up, he says out loud, hand on his earpiece, “I missed my target. Awaiting orders, sir.”

Silence.

“Sir?”

Still no reply. He’s alone.

Red lights all around, like when he would fail in his training. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Failed. He sees the red in the lonely traffic lights, blurring around him.

He made a mistake, his first mistake in… he can’t remember. There’s blood — more red — of a dead person on his hands, but not his target. Not the right person. The right target is gone, disappeared somewhere he does not know. He needs to find him, but it’s not possible to track him from here; he needs to get back to the base.

But where the hell is he?

He doesn’t notice the rain until he shivers from the cold, raindrops running down onto his nose from his fringe. As he shakes himself out of his momentary confusion, thinking it might be time for a correction by the boss, he checks his watch. He’s been standing here for fifteen minutes, not knowing where to go.

_Focus. You need to get out of here before someone finds the body. That’s obvious._

Focus.

He has a knack for directions, but has never been in this place before. The only reason he came this far away from where he knows is that his target led him here. He could ask someone who is still outside for directions, but he doesn’t speak to people — and he doubts that anyone would want to speak to him considering how he looks, bloody hands haphazardly wiped on his pants. And he can’t think clearly, not with the rain drumming on the ground around him, not with the thought of his missing target whirring in his head.

It’s confusing, and he’s shivering and he feels — he feels? What is he feeling? His heart rate is rising, it’s as though something is trying to force its way out of his throat. He doesn’t know how to analyze this, how to logically understand it. All he knows, all he ever knew, is the gun in his holster, pressing against his thigh, the sound of a gunshot, a knife piercing skin, the sound of a person taking their final breath. He doesn’t know how to handle this — this _feeling_ , as if he is going to be sick.

He shouldn’t be feeling these things, he knows that much. His bosses would know what to do. But he doesn’t know how to return to the base. They should not have let him go without tracking him; then they could have found him, helped him, fixed him. Now, loathe as he is to admit it, he is lost.

He lets out a shuddering breath and sits on the ground, leaning against the wall nearest to him. There are few people walking past his lonely corner, sheltered from the rain by umbrellas, hurrying along to wherever they are going. No one notices him. No one ever does.

That was always his advantage.

He looks at his dirty hands being rinsed by the rain, shaking — from the cold or these things he is feeling, he doesn’t know. A drop of water reaches his lips. It tastes different from the rain, it’s salty. That’s confusing, but his eyes are stinging so perhaps it comes from tears. Why tears? He has seen people cry before, in fear or in grief from losing a loved one. Why is _he_ crying?

A sob makes its way out of his throat, and he slaps his hand to his mouth. He shouldn’t — he _shouldn’t_ — but he can’t control his own body anymore. That’s a frightening thought, he realizes, then realizes — this is what fear is.

He is scared.

He keeps his hand over his mouth as sobs wrack his body, warm tears mingling with the rain on his face. He cries and cries, because he doesn’t know what else to do, scared and confused and lost. _Pathetic,_ he thinks, _control yourself, you’re better than this._ They’ll have to fix him, back at the base — and the thought of what they will do to fix him again makes him sob even harder. More than anything he wants to be fixed, to not feel again, but he doesn’t think he could handle that pain again. The reminder hits him, and he curls up a little where he sits.

He can’t go back like this. Maybe he can never go back.

In his reverie, he only absently registers the footsteps coming closer, splashing in the rain-covered street. And for a moment, the rain stops.

There is a person standing in front of him, a man holding an umbrella. He looks… concerned. For him? _Do I deserve that?_ He can’t imagine why he would; all he’s ever done is hurt others, without remorse. And yet, this man looks concerned, covering him from the rain.

“Are you all right?”

 

✧✧✧

 

The stranger doesn’t say a word after he tells Wonsik his name — mumbles it absently, “Hongbin”, as though it’s foreign to him.

He’s drenched and his clothes are covered in blood. He doesn’t seem wounded, himself. His eyes are red and puffy — he’s definitely been crying — and he looks just scared and lost. Wonsik’s heart hurts. He can’t just leave him out here in the rain. “Do you need help?” he tries, somewhat wary. No response, just emptiness. “Alright, Hongbin,” he says as he bends and gently pulls the man up, “You're gonna get sick out here. Let's get you someplace dry and safe, okay?”

Hongbin doesn't reply, but doesn't struggle when Wonsik starts to lead him along, holding his umbrella over the lost man. He doesn't know what's happened, but Hongbin looks like he could use a bit of kindness.

After trying to ask if there's somewhere Hongbin wants to go, where he lives, and getting no reply but a simple shake of his head, Wonsik resolves to bring him home, if only for tonight. A shower and some rest will do him good. The stranger complies wordlessly.

He leads Hongbin into his apartment, letting him take a shower, leaves some clothes outside the bathroom door. Hongbin looks incredibly small and confused in Wonsik’s sweater, and gingerly accepts the cup of tea Wonsik offers him, all with a distant stare. “You can sleep here tonight,” says Wonsik, adding, “If you want to, of course. And you can go home tomorrow.” He’s trying to read him, Wonsik sees it in his eyes, trying to understand why he’s taking in a stranger — and then nods, seemingly satisfied with whatever it is he sees.

It doesn’t seem like Hongbin is about to go to sleep just yet though, so Wonsik stays in the living room with him for another couple of hours, talking idly over the low volume of the TV. Hongbin doesn’t reply to him in words but seems to be listening, and Wonsik doesn’t push him to speak. He must have suffered some sort of trauma. It’s not his place to make someone he just met tell him his life story.

Only when the man begins to doze off does Wonsik go to bed, allowing him to curl up on the sofa wrapped in blankets. “Goodnight, Hongbin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

✧✧✧

 

_It starts peacefully._

_He’s overlooking the city. He’s used to that, he does this often. It seems normal._

_Until he sees red. Red, everywhere. Red in the streets. Red staining the windows. Blood, blood, more blood. He looks down and it’s on his hands. He’s holding a gun; although he doesn’t pull the trigger, it fires._

_“W-why?” In front of him he sees— himself, bullet wound in his stomach, blood pooling around it, drenching his shirt. “Why did you do that?”_

_“It wasn’t me,” he says, voice wavering, unsure because he did hold the gun — was it really not him? Did he pull the trigger without realizing? In a daze?_

_“Why did you kill me,” asks the other him. “Why—” suddenly it’s the man from last night, the same bloody wound, “did—” now, an old man, “you—” a little girl, “kill—” a young woman, “me?”_

_“No, no, I’m sorry,” he backs up, but they follow him, eyes bleeding, asking why he killed them, why did he kill them, why why why—_

_“Hongbin,” someone calls._

“Hongbin, wake up.” He gasps awake with a sudden sense of panic filling him and a person standing over him. On reflex, one hand goes to the throat of the person, the other searching frantically for a knife strapped to his waistband. There is none, only soft pyjama pants, and he recognizes the man suddenly, remembering last night. Remembering red lights, blood, tears, and Wonsik.

This man took him in for no clear reason. Took care of him. He should be suspicious — they both should, to be fair — but Wonsik still helped him out of the rain when he had nowhere to go. Now his eyes are wide and fearful of the hand on his throat. “Hongbin,” he croaks. “Let me go… please…”

He drops his hand, taking in his surroundings. It’s still dark outside, but the sun is slowly, slowly beginning to peek up from the horizon. There is no sign of immediate danger — the only other person here is Wonsik, rubbing at his throat, having stepped away from him slightly.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. The word is foreign on his tongue; it’s usually never genuine when he does use it. But this man helped him, and there is no reason to distrust him — yet.

“You were screaming,” says Wonsik. He’s still tense, not approaching again. “In your sleep. I guessed you were having a nightmare, just came to check on you.”

A nightmare. He doesn’t remember what he dreamed, but the memories must be in his subconscious because panic begins to well up again as he thinks about it, such an unusually painful feeling. And now he’s scared of this sensation, these feelings that he was taught to despise. Funny thing, his life; he used to never care about anything. When he began feeling things, he would ask them to fix him, free him from them. Now there’s no one to take that away, no one to free him. And the more he thinks about going back, the more he remembers the immense pain the corrections put him through, and he shudders as if feeling it again.

Even so, the panic is overwhelming, and the memories of all he has done are coming back. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

He hates feelings. “I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I assumed you had some shit going on,” he hears Wonsik say, “considering how I found you… But please don’t do that again. If you can help it.”

But his mind is far away already, in the land of memories, all painful to be confronted with. He doesn’t know anything other than pain, really — all he wants to do is cry and cry and scream — pain, and then that complete lack of emotion, not caring about whether anyone lives or dies, whether _he_ lives or dies. Not caring who he kills, who he hurts.

It all comes back now.

An old man, having spotted him, unfortunately knowing he was about to die, begging for his life. He would probably have died soon enough, anyway. He took that life without mercy.

A little girl, just a victim of political hostilities, people with power using her to hurt the opposition. He took her life as well, feeling no remorse, no differentiation.

The man just last night, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, not even the real target. And he took that man’s life, only trying to get a hold of his mark.

And many more. So many more. Innocent lives, that once were nothing to him, that were everything to someone. Now their faces are clear in his mind.

“Wait— wait, are you okay? Do you need to talk? Do you need anything?” The concern returns to Wonsik’s voice, just barely cutting through the distress, the pain in his chest, the tears welling up in his eyes and his breathing quickening. “Hongbin. Hongbin, slow down, breathe.”

“W-wha— I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, not to Wonsik but to the memories in his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Hongbin!” Two hands land heavy on his shoulder, snapping him back to reality, Wonsik forcing him to look at him. “Breathe. Deep breaths.”

He does what he’s told, gets guided through it, eventually managing to slow his panicked shallow breathing, warm wetness running down his cheeks and eyes stinging. He wipes the tears away and curls back up on the sofa, hoping to disappear. Hoping the pain will go away.

He’s staring at Wonsik but doesn’t really register that he’s still there until he speaks again. “I don’t know what you’ve been through,” he says, “but I’m here if you need anything. You don’t need to talk about it until you’re ready. Is that okay?”

He blinks blearily. The panic has started to be replaced by exhaustion, once more. He just nods. What’s the use of words?

Wonsik makes breakfast, a simple eggs on toast with a salad on the side. As he eats, tentatively, slowly, he watches Wonsik watch him, watches him eat. He has already considered every way he might kill him if he needs to — every place he can punch or kick to knock him out. It would be so easy; he has already held him in a choke grasp. He should feel bad, now, for thinking this way, and he does, but it’s just who he is. Killing is what he knows best. Wonsik, poor Wonsik, has no idea. There is no way he would let a mercenary into his home.

He has no idea how little compassion and pity this mercenary deserves.

After the meal he’s left alone for a while, dozing slightly due to his exhaustion, and then stares unseeing at the TV until the blurry blobs begin to form real shapes, real characters, real stories. He becomes unexpectedly engrossed in a movie that was randomly playing.

A few hours later he feels stiff and stir-crazy. He begins pacing around the apartment in silence, feeling Wonsik’s curious eyes on him, and eventually sits in an armchair facing the window. Stares out at the street below, people-watching. Normal people, going about their normal lives. Most certainly aren’t like him. He wonders what it’s like, to be them, and stays there watching for hours, presumably, until the sun begins to go down.

What is he still doing in this house? He should be leaving. Go back to where he came from. They would probably welcome him back with open arms. Maybe they’re even looking for him. But again the thought of being corrected, having this new experience stripped away from him, makes his skin crawl, and he buries his face in his hands to hide from it.

As darkness falls upon the city, he realizes he has nowhere to go. In one way it would be a comfort to go back to his old life, to at least have that one place where he belongs, but he just can’t continue living like that anymore. Wonsik hasn’t indicated that he wants him to leave, but he also hasn’t said that he can stay for as long as he wants.

_What do I do now?_ he wonders.

 

✧✧✧

 

Wonsik doesn’t know what to do about Hongbin.

What has he done? He has no idea who the man is, or what brought him to that street two days ago, and yet he can’t bring himself to force anything out of him, or to kick him out even though Hongbin doesn’t show a sign of planning to go anywhere. It just seems wrong somehow, when the guy looks so broken and lost, and doesn’t seem to have a place that he can go to.

Is he homeless? Was he kicked out of his home? It’s hard to tell, when he barely speaks. All he does is sit around, watch TV, and sleep. He apparently had another nightmare last night, waking up screaming again. Wonsik can’t imagine what he’s going through; he sympathizes with him, despite being on edge after the episode the first morning.

He figures Hongbin needs some time to figure things out. So he lets him stay, through another few nights of nightmares, of panic attacks and tears. It’s not his first time looking after a traumatized person, he thinks, and the reminder gives him an idea.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Wonsik asks. “Just down to the store for some snacks?”

He doesn’t expect Hongbin’s eyes to widen so much. “I can’t,” he says, curls up a little further. “I can’t.”

“Okay, okay, no problem,” Wonsik assures. He opens the windows instead, to let some fresh air through. “I’m just going for a bit, then. Will you be okay?” Hongbin nods, if a little hesitantly. “Great. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He meets with Taekwoon outside the store, tells him about the man in his apartment as they walk through the aisles and cross off their respective shopping lists. “He hasn’t said anything about himself?” Taekwoon asks, frowning. “Is it a good idea to have him there?”

“I did that for you too when you needed it,” Wonsik points out, grabbing a carton of milk and remembering briefly the similarities of Hongbin with Taekwoon when he came back home; quiet, reserved, anxious, sleeping badly… If Taekwoon could get better, then maybe there’s hope for his new guest.

“But you knew me already,” says Taekwoon. “It’s different.”

It’s true, but… “I don’t know, he just looks so lost and helpless. I don’t want to just abandon him if he has nowhere to go.”

Taekwoon hums in response. “And the nightmares? Did he say anything about them?”

“No, but he almost choked me when I woke him the first morning,” Wonsik admits carefully. He wasn’t sure if he should say it, but it was scary. For a moment he really thought Hongbin wouldn’t let him go. That he was really… _planning_ to kill him — but then he snapped out of it, went back to being that scared boy. “It was like some kind of reflex, like he’s always on guard even in his sleep. Even now, he seems like he’s waiting for me to… betray him somehow. Fuck him over, I guess.”

“Choked you?” Taekwoon seems to look more closely at him, concern in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? That’s not normal, Wonsik.”

“It’s okay, it’s— well, it’s not okay,” he corrects himself. “I was really scared. But I think he was, too. He doesn’t know me either. Something has clearly happened to him. Whatever it is, it’s left him messed up.”

Taekwoon nods briefly, looks thoughtfully at the flour in his hand, then seems to look past it— then puts it in his basket. “Maybe I should meet him. Check him out a bit.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you. I’m wondering if he might be…” Not knowing how to put it, Wonsik gestures towards Taekwoon.

“He could be. But let’s not make assumptions, okay? He could just be anyone.”

“Okay,” says Wonsik, nodding several times. He’s never met anyone like Taekwoon before. He has started to realize that there’s no way of knowing what Hongbin is really like. He had first thought that he might be just a lone soldier with some heavy PTSD — but maybe there’s more to it.

 

✧✧✧

 

There’s a heavy, heavy pounding on the door.

_Wonsik’s first reaction is to turn around in his bed and press a pillow over his ear to try and ignore it. There’s no reason for his dreams to be so loud._

_But it’s not a dream, he realizes when he wakes up properly and there’s still a knock on his door. He groans and shuffles out of his room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, growing more cautious as he remembers it’s the middle of the night. “Who’s there?”_

_“Wonsik,” someone calls from the other side of the door, a voice painfully familiar that he can’t seem to place._

_Until he looks through the eye in the door, and freezes._

_“Wonsik, please,” the man says again, desperation in his voice. He looks like a complete mess, too; hair in his eyes, eyes sunken and dark, paler than usual. How is he here?_

_Wonsik snaps out of it and unlocks the door, letting him in. Taekwoon tumbles into his arms, heaving sobs into his shoulder. “You’re alive,” is all Wonsik manages to say in his shock. He nudges the door closed with his foot, still holding Taekwoon, his best friend who is shaking, freezing, and so thin._

_“I thought you were dead,” he says later, after wrapping Taekwoon in multiple blankets and curling up with him in his bed. His eyes betray the pain in his heart, and Wonsik holds him close, protecting him from the world._

_It has been two years, two years of thinking Taekwoon had been killed in some accident, though he personally always suspected foul play of some sort — and now he’s back, alive but so broken._

_With time, he tells Wonsik the sordid, painful tale. With time, he begins to heal. He is himself again, but that darkness is still buried deep in his heart._

 

✧✧✧

 

“A good friend of mine is coming over,” says Wonsik. “His name is Taekwoon, he’s just coming to hang out for a bit. Are you okay with that?”

Hongbin looks up and blinks. He nods. Whoever this friend is, it doesn’t really matter. Just another person to hide his past from, just as with Wonsik. He doesn’t know why Wonsik has let him stay for so long, but he doubts it would last any longer if he knew about who his guest truly was.

“You know, you could try to be friendly with him. He won’t hurt you.” Wonsik hands him a mug of tea, which he accepts without looking. “You don’t have to talk or anything like that, but maybe you could use the social interaction.”

“Okay, he says quietly, after a moment. His voice is scratchy, throat sore with screaming and crying, and barely having spoken.

By the time there’s a knock on the door, a while later, he’s zoned out and almost forgotten about the visitor, and he flinches in surprise. “That’ll be Taekwoon,” says Wonsik and calls for his friend to let himself in.

Hongbin settles back in his, by now, well-worn spot in the sofa, and doesn’t look back up until a man stands in front of him. “Hi,” he says. “You’re Hongbin, right? I’m Taekwoon.”

Something in his eyes is familiar, kicking Hongbin’s observation skills into drive. They have a sense of calmness he hasn’t seen in most people, they’re calculating, and don’t falter even as he stares at them. There’s a softness to them as well, something that separates him from Hongbin.

He nods.

Taekwoon smiles. “Nice to meet you. Do you want to play cards with us?” He holds up a stack of cards.

He hasn’t played many games before, but Wonsik and Taekwoon are patient with him even as he stays silent throughout the game, only smiling despite himself when he finally wins over them both. Wonsik is petulant at having lost and Taekwoon gently whacks him over the head. He smiles wider at that, warmth blooming in his chest. And that’s a nice feeling, one he could get used to. All of it feels normal, something he never had, never thought he wanted.

Until now, at least.

After they get tired of playing, the three of them take a trip outside. It’s Hongbin’s first time outside in the few days he’s spent in Wonsik’s home, as evidenced by how he squints at the pale cloudy sky, wrapping his borrowed coat further around him when there’s a gust of chilly wind. Until now he hasn’t dared to leave the house, not explaining why but just curling in on himself whenever asked. It’s a relief to see him do it now. He seems to take everything in with new eyes, curious yet never wandering too far from Wonsik and Taekwoon, who watch him with a measure of curiosity of their own.

“What do you think?” asks Wonsik quietly while Hongbin is looking up at the sky a little away from them.

“Hard to tell,” says Taekwoon. “He could be just anyone with a complicated past. But I suspect there’s more to it.” He huffs. “I don’t know, he seems harmless enough for now. Too broken to be dangerous, I guess. Just keep your eyes open in case he starts to act different.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Wonsik says. “I feel like maybe… maybe he just needs a friend.”

Taekwoon gives him a warm, playful smile. “You’re so sympathetic. He’s lucky to have you.” A moment passes, and he nudges Wonsik with his shoulder. “So was I.”

“Hell yeah, you were.” Wonsik loops his arm around Taekwoon’s, pulling him closer. They quiet down as Hongbin comes back to them, eyes bright and maybe a little hopeful.

Wonsik likes to think there’s hope for everyone. Whatever Hongbin’s baggage is, his heart has a chance to heal. Wonsik will happily help in any way he can.

 

✧✧✧

 

It’s been nearly two weeks with Wonsik. Almost two weeks of nightmares, of overwhelming emotions. He can’t do anything but cry it out when it happens, sobbing like a lost child when the world seems too big and scary and the weight of his past crushes him. Sometimes he gets angry, at his situation, at himself, and snaps at Wonsik or Taekwoon, who’s spending more time there; he’ll threaten to break something, and then he’ll break down, fall to his knees, hide his face.

“It’s part of dealing with trauma,” Taekwoon says once when he quietly apologizes. He doesn’t feel like he’s dealing with anything.

Even so, he’s allowing himself to open up more, allowing himself to just feel — especially to feel something other than guilt and pain. Wonsik lends him a book, which he loses himself in when he feels otherwise lost.

It’s one of those days when Wonsik’s friend Jaehwan visits, talking loudly about… something, which he doesn’t really process as he’s not entirely sure if the stranger is talking to him or to Wonsik. Instead he hides himself behind his book and tries to ignore him, heart slowly picking up its pace.

“What’re you reading?” Jaehwan eventually brings him to really look at him, his curious eyes, trying to figure him out. Of course he is; all of them have been doing that.

He holds up the book so that Jaehwan can see the title on the cover.

“Isn’t that a romance novel? It’s Wonsik’s?” says Jaehwan. He nods. Jaehwan grins. “It’s one of those super sappy ones, isn’t it? I mean, that’s not so surprising coming from Wonsikkie, he’s literally the sappiest guy I know. But when he comes back from the store I know what I’m going to tease him about!”

He just stares blankly as the man talks and talks, not sure how to handle such a personality. Both Wonsik and Taekwoon have been quite peaceful and gentle; Jaehwan seems over-the-top, loud, but still friendly. He blinks when Jaehwan stops talking, silence for a few seconds, until Jaehwan starts to talk again.

After some time Jaehwan seems to have run out of things to say, and disappears into the kitchen. Unsurprising — he’s not exactly engaging. He goes back to his book; _sappy novel,_ he thinks, and feels his cheeks heat up when the main characters end up impossibly close.

He jumps a little in his seat when a glass is suddenly thrust in front of his face. At the other end of the hand is Jaehwan, his other hand clutching another glass. “Smoothie,” he says. “Want some?”

Slightly fanning himself with the book — he still feels warm — he gingerly takes the glass, inspecting the pink and purple contents. He takes a small sip; it’s cold, and tastes like berries.

He decides he likes it, and finishes his glass in slow sips while still reading. When he sets the glass down on the table, he’s surprised to find Jaehwan still sitting there in silence. The man is reading his own book, curled up in a chair, repeatedly tapping the cover of the book with one finger, as though he simply can’t stay completely still. But he looks genuinely focused on what he’s reading nevertheless.

“You tamed Jaehwan,” Wonsik says in mock surprise when he comes back from his errands to the sight of them both reading peacefully.

“Bitch,” says Jaehwan, “that comment just cost you the rest of the smoothie I made. It’s going to me and Hongbin. He’s my new best friend.”

“Ditching me just like that? Cruel,” says Wonsik, dropping a bag of chips into Jaehwan’s lap.

“Huh, you know what, I might take you back.” Jaehwan lights up, happily tearing into the bag and offering Hongbin some as well.

When he’s bidding good night after a late evening of sitting around and talking, snacking, and watching movies, Jaehwan bounds over to him. “You’re a little weird,” he says, “but I like you.”

He doesn’t know what to think. What he does know is that he liked being treated… like there wasn’t something wrong with him. That he could pretend otherwise for a little while.

 

✧✧✧

 

He wakes up screaming again. As usual, Wonsik is there; he sits with him in the kitchen, reminds him of where he is, grounds him. Shows kindness that he doesn’t deserve.

He doesn’t deserve that. He’s a monster. Trained to kill, kill, kill. Unable to feel remorse.

And yet he’s feeling more each day. Tears, falling down his cheeks from horror and grief and fear, and he’ll curl up and cry like a child that doesn’t know anything else. Because isn’t that what he is — a child robbed of a childhood, with no happy memories to keep him going?

“You’re okay,” mutters Wonsik, always so gentle with him. Wonsik, who had eventually given him the guest bedroom to sleep in, who’s given him food and care. Would he be the same way if he knew who he was housing?

A monster.

He can be selfish and hide it in case he’ll be kicked out. He _should_ hide it, his mind tells him, because he has nowhere else.

But Wonsik deserves to know. He deserves to be given the choice of whether he wants someone like him here.

“I,” he starts, voice hoarse from crying. He averts his gaze when Wonsik looks curiously at him. _Last chance to back down._ “I killed some people.” _Now it’s out._ “Many, actually…”

Wonsik leans back just a little, as if seeing him in a new light, all of a sudden. He keeps speaking, desperate to get it out there now that he has started. “I was raised— well, I say _raised_ — by a company that works with the government. They trained me to be their mercenary.” He sighs. He hasn’t said this many words at a time, not for some time. “They sent me to do their dirty work, killing anyone who interfered with the government as it is, anyone who tries to stir change. But you have to understand… you have to understand, I didn’t do it because I liked it. They… made it so I felt no remorse, nothing at all, really. If I did, they would— _correct_ me.”

Memories trickle back, contempt and hatred mingling with the fear he’s feeling now. He never knew then, but he hated the Company. Hates them, for what they did to him. “When you found me, I don’t know, I had started to… feel again? Just barely… and then I made a mistake, I lost my target…” He closes his eyes and presses his lips together as he remembers that day. “I failed them… I couldn’t find my way back… And I broke down.”

The silence hangs heavy in the air as he finishes, not knowing what else to say. Wonsik is quiet; he doesn’t dare look at him, scared to see fear, and the disgust he feels with himself mirrored in his eyes.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, he finally meets Wonsik’s gaze, tears still in his eyes. He looks shocked, unsurprisingly, but not as terrified as expected. There’s something else in his eyes that’s hard to decipher. Granted, Hongbin is not good at reading emotions. “That’s who I am.” He looks back down, sniffling. “You’ll want me to leave.” He stands up, goes to the bedroom he’s been using and begins to pick up the few things he owns. There’s no reply.

On the bed is a sweater Wonsik gave him, big and soft. He picks it up and looks at it somewhat sadly. It represents something he can’t decide on; maybe a friendship, his first one; maybe a new beginning.

Should he leave it? Would Wonsik let him keep it? Where should he even go? Is he safe on his own? He has means of defending himself, but where can he go to call home?

Perhaps he should just go back. Be fixed. Corrected. Forget all about this. He doesn’t really care anymore. He’s alone wherever he goes.

There’s a knock on the door. He drops the sweater back onto the bed and turns to face Wonsik, who’s standing in the doorway. He doesn’t look angry or disgusted. It’s hard to tell what he _is_ feeling.

“You didn’t feel remorse,” says Wonsik.

He nods slowly.

“Do you feel it now?”

He’s still processing that he’s not being yelled at, that nothing is happening just as he expected. He used to be good at predicting the outcome of certain situations. But he knows the answer, feels it burn like acid at his heart. “Yes.” _Remorse is all I feel._

“You’re different now. You don’t plan to… kill again. Right?” Wonsik seems to be feeling his way to a conclusion.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, only hopes with all he has that he can be different; if not for himself, for Wonsik, for Taekwoon, and Jaehwan. For the people who have cared for him when he couldn’t care for himself. “I don’t.”

Wonsik nods, nods again, thoughtful. “And what am I to you? An asset? A caretaker? A friend?”

So much more than an asset. He’s terrified of losing this shelter, yes, but the warmth and kindness would be even more of a loss. He wishes he could word his feelings better; he doesn’t even understand them all that well. “I’ve never had a friend before. But… I want you to be. A friend. Not just a caretaker or an asset. If you want that.”

Wonsik just chews his lip, watching him. Did he say something wrong? Did he wrongly assume Wonsik wanted to be his friend? Is he being tested? “I— I’ll leave.” He turns again.

“Don’t,” Wonsik cuts in.

He stops, returning to his original position. Wonsik’s expression is unreadable, but his words are clear. “Don’t leave.”

“O...okay.” It seems like Wonsik has more to say, and he isn’t really sure what he should be saying either, so he waits, lets Wonsik think through his words, until he finally speaks again.

“I wasn’t sure what was wrong with you,” Wonsik admits. “And I thought it might be something bad, because of how… broken you seemed. I’ve seen what the Company can do to people once before. But I didn’t know what to expect, not fully.”

“You’ve— you’ve seen it before? Someone like me?” He had no idea there were more like him.

Wonsik nods somberly, but doesn’t elaborate, just continues, “I have. And it’s a lot, but… you have kindness in your heart. You clearly feel remorse for what you did, I’ve seen you cry over it all, and I can’t imagine what it’s like but I want to… be there for you. However I can. If you need a place to stay, I want you to call this place home, for as long as you need.”

The words fill his stomach with warmth, his eyes welling up with tears once more. He’s not alone. He’s wanted, even. He has a home.

He steps forward until he is in Wonsik’s arms, crying silently into his shoulder. Wonsik is warm, like his voice and his words, and he’s a little stiff at first, in surprise, but then wraps his arms around him.

“You’re safe here,” Wonsik promises.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

 

✧✧✧

 

He abruptly wakes up due to a strange sensation on his neck.

His eyes snap open, hand flying to the wrist of the arm near his neck, pulling the person to him and pushing them down under him in one fluid movement, ready to press down on the throat, ready to kill—

“That’s _enough,_ soldier,” Taekwoon says, slightly garbled by the pressure on his throat.

_Soldier._ He freezes. The commanding tone, the words, ring familiar in his mind, bringing him back to mental images of the training, the ones who created him.

In front of him is Taekwoon, expression not one of fear as it would normally be but of control. He lets him go when he realizes who it is. There’s a faint red mark on Taekwoon’s throat, but he seems unfazed as he stands, as though he doesn’t even notice it. “You looked uncomfortable while sleeping,” he says, his voice back to the normal softness. He’s holding a pillow, which he lifts. “I thought you might want some neck support.”

He notices the book he dropped on the floor, and his neck does feel a little stiff. He remembers now; he was spending his afternoon reading another novel, consumed as usual, Taekwoon next to him with his own preoccupation, a comfortable silence. He did get tired at some point, but didn’t notice himself dozing off.

These things don’t seem half as important as the sharp tone in Taekwoon’s voice that made his stomach sink in recognition, however, chillingly familiar. “You— you’re like me?” he whispers, swallowing from the dryness in his throat. Taekwoon could be like him, or one of the controllers, no doubt. He stands, finally letting the man free of his grip, and backs up until he hits the wall, heart in his throat hammering in terror. If Taekwoon is one of _them,_ if he’s there to take him back— “Get away from me. Get away from—”

“I was a soldier,” Taekwoon interjects. He sits up straight, meeting Hongbin’s eyes directly. “But I didn’t get far past the training— the _torture,_ before I ran away.”

“A soldier? For them?” Confusion fills his mind instead — they have soldiers? — and then realization dawns on him. “Wonsik said he’d seen before what the Company can do… He meant you, didn’t he?”

“They took me away in the middle of the night.” Taekwoon sighs. “It seems like ages ago, now. I was there for two years before the brainwash let up for long enough that I realized I could run away. No one came for me. I guess I was disposable enough that they didn’t bother. Probably figured I wouldn’t blabber. Maybe they didn’t even notice, there were so many of us.” There’s a trace of sadness in his voice. “Wonsik was my best friend before I disappeared, and he was there for me when I came home, too. Through all the tough shit. It’s thanks to him that I’m even a little functional now.”

“I— I had no idea,” Hongbin starts. “I didn’t know there really were more like me. Not to mention that there were many.”

Taekwoon tilts his head, also seeming confused now. “They have hundreds, thousands of soldiers trained for the army. Do you not know?” He must see the blankness in Hongbin’s eyes; he frowns. “Are you… were you the Mercenary?”

_Mercenary._ The name is so familiar; he heard it referring to him many times. On the days he wasn’t hidden away in darkness and complete solitude for lack of work, they would call him the Mercenary, a pretty word for murderer. The name fills him with a mixture of emotions, now. Dread and guilt, because this is who he is known as; anger and disgust towards himself for having done such unspeakable things; fear of being made to do it again.

His silence is surely enough of an answer. Taekwoon continues, cutting through his train of thought, “Are you _still_ the Mercenary? Do you still take orders from them?”

“Mercenary was my title,” he says after some time passes, heart racing; wanting to prove that he’s different now, that he needs this home. He doesn’t know what he would do if he saw anyone from the Company again. He’d rather avoid it. “That’s what I was raised to be— a killer. But I didn’t know anything else, then. Now I’m out of there. I don’t want to go back to them. Please don’t make me leave.”

Taekwoon steps closer, until there’s only a small distance between them. He lifts one hand slowly, letting him see it, and places it on his shoulder. The touch feels foreign but warm, a little tingly. Things he would not have noticed in the past. “Listen, Hongbin. I ran away. I don’t want anything to do with them. If you’re not that person anymore, I want you to stay here, where you’re safe. Wonsik cares for you. I’ll be looking after you. Just know that if you purposefully hurt Wonsik… I won’t be so nice. Understood?”

He nods somberly. If he hurt Wonsik, he could never forgive himself. There is no reason anyone else should, especially his best friend.

Taekwoon smiles a little, and it’s kind and comforting. He notes that he can tell kind smiles apart from others, now. That’s progress, right? “Good. You’ll be okay.”

And for once, he believes it, if only a little.

 

✧✧✧

 

The low sounds from the game Jaehwan is playing combined with the news playing on the TV provides background noise as Hongbin leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. It’s been a long day of doing nothing, and he’s getting restless. He could use a trip outside, but he’d rather not bother Jaehwan when he’s busy, and he doesn’t want to go alone. At least he has company while Wonsik is running errands. Taekwoon has been busy as well, coming every few days to hang out and spend time together. Overall, he’s being treated kindly.

Jaehwan is the only one who doesn’t know anything about who he is. It’s hard to broach the subject after these days together when it doesn’t really come up in conversation. But Hongbin appreciates the friendship despite it; he’ll get to know at some point anyway.

He turns his attention halfway to the news, curious about what’s going on in the outside world. It’s one of the things he didn’t know anything about in what he now calls his past life; he was cut off, all that mattered was what was around him and what he was told to do. Now he finds that seeing there is more out there than he knew is somewhat of a relief, even though the news are more negative than positive.

An image flashes up on the screen. His blood suddenly goes cold. “The police are still investigating the murder of a young man found in the street a few weeks ago,” says the anchor. “There are few new leads as for the murderer, and the police ask for anyone who might know something relevant to report what they know right away.”

The image is of the man he mistook for his target.

“No, no, no,” he whispers. His breath stutters, his throat closes up, guilt and fear washing over him and becoming one big ball of panic in his heart. “No.” The memory of the knife sinking into the man, the realization that he was wrong, the panic that followed as his emotions overwhelmed him — he’s hyperventilating now — he can’t go back to that, he can’t deal with that.

The police are going to find him, they’re looking and they’ll find him sooner or later. He deserves to be brought to justice for all he’s done, but he can’t face his own guilt without wanting to disappear into a void of emptiness. He can imagine the eyes of thousands viewing him with disgust. _Monster._ That’s what he is.

It was stupid of him to think he could be anything else.

“I have to,” he mumbles more to himself than anything, “I have to go. I have to go.”

Jaehwan doesn’t seem to notice him moving until he’s rushing past him out of the living room, he only absently registers him call his name, “Binnie? What’s up— where are you going?” He’s in a daze, he just needs to _get out of here,_ to go back to the ones who can take away all of this pain, this terrible pain.

That’s where he belongs.

He stumbles out of the door, running down and down the stairs while heaving for breath, only thinking about getting rid of these feelings. He can’t do this anymore. He thought he could change, that he could become better, be a real person. It was futile all this time. He can’t change who he’s been his entire life.

The noise and bustle of the city hits him all at once as he exits the building. Where does he go now? He needs to get back to the base, needs to find some transport… But where? When he lost himself, when this all started, it was because he got lost in this city. His sense of direction is muddled and confused; he doesn’t even know where he came from.

“Nooo…” It comes out a long wail; he inhales sharply, vision blurring with tears. “Not again, not again… Please…”

How can he save himself if he can’t even get away from this place?

He wanders in a haze, not knowing how to get to his goal, just wanting to be there already, to be numb again. Instead he’s feeling everything at once, feeling too much, overwhelmed by all of the thoughts running through his head.

“Hongbin, wait! Hongbin! Where are you going?” He hears it in the back of his mind, files it away as unnecessary, but then hands grab his arms and by instinct he flinches, wrestling himself out of the grip and, for lack of a weapon, turns to see who grabbed him.

There’s Jaehwan looking at him with… he doesn’t know what kind of expression… concern? “Thank God, Hongbin.” Jaehwan is panting. Did he run all the way after him? he wonders absently. “You just ran out, I got worried. What’s going on?”

“I have to go,” he just says, “I have to go back.” He begins to step away, away from Jaehwan, towards wherever will lead him there, but he’s so lost, so confused, why “I have to go—” why “I have to—” why—

Two arms wrap around him, holding him back; he fights, begging Jaehwan to let him go, he needs to go, he needs to get away— but his resolve crumbles before he gets out of the grip. He drops to his knees, giving up on repressing his sobs. In the corner of his eye Jaehwan sits down at his side, saying words he doesn’t quite hear. He buries his face in his hands, wet with tears, the world a blur. “I can’t— I can’t,” he manages.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. When he finally calms his breathing, wipes the tears away and looks up at the world around him, the urge to run off has subsided, leaving only a sense of emptiness and exhaustion setting into his limbs.

“How are you feeling?” Jaehwan asks.

“I… don’t know.”

“You gonna run away again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jaehwan finally witnessed a terrible breakdown and has no idea what caused it; maybe it’s time he knew as well. “Maybe later,” he says, somewhat weakly. It’s too long of a story to tell right away, not to mention out in public.

“Alright,” says Jaehwan. He places a gentle hand on Hongbin’s. “That’s just fine. Come on, let’s get you back home, hm?”

As they’re entering the building, Wonsik and Taekwoon catch up with them; Wonsik the very picture of concern, Taekwoon seeming calmer but also curious. “Are you feeling better?” Wonsik asks. Jaehwan must have contacted the two of them.

“Y-yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“As long as you’re okay,” says Taekwoon. He doesn’t know if he’s okay per se — there’s still a voice in his head reminding him of what he is, that’s been there since he met Wonsik — but he’s no longer panicking like he was, and he supposes that’s something.

It’s when they’re back to the safety of Wonsik’s apartment, blankets and hot drinks, that Jaehwan finally gets to hear his story. He might as well know now. Hongbin looks to Taekwoon for affirmation and gets an encouraging nod. “I was raised to be a murderer,” he starts, bluntly, and waits cautiously for the reaction, sipping his hot chocolate.

Jaehwan, not expecting such a statement, whips his head towards him. “Excuse me, what?”

He explains to Jaehwan how he was raised, what the Company did to him and others, how he came to meet Wonsik. Jaehwan’s expression goes from one of confusion, to shock, to disgust. He can’t quite tell towards what the disgust is directed, until Jaehwan just looks sad, and gets up and envelops him in a warm hug.

“Holy shit,” Jaehwan whispers into his neck, “I’m so sorry. It’s terrifying that someone would do something that horrid to a person.”

He sits back, biting his lip in thought. “There’s a guy in my debate club who suspected something like this,” he finally says after some silence. “He was talking about how people are kidnapped and taken from their lives, to be soldiers. I didn’t really believe him… It sounded too weird and too messed up. I still can’t believe it. I mean, what the fuck? Who does that?”

“People who want to keep their power,” says Taekwoon, staring ahead of himself.

“You guys knew about this?” Jaehwan looks to Taekwoon and Wonsik, who both mutter a confirmation. “How long?”

“I knew about what was going on before Hongbin even came into the picture. Because I went through it,” says Taekwoon. “I was one of their soldiers.”

Jaehwan’s mouth falls open in surprise. “Shit. For real?”

Lightly chewing on his thumb, Taekwoon continues, gaze distant. “It was before we met you, I was— I was gone for some time, kidnapped by the company. They tortured us, trying to force the emotions out of our brain. Some kind of scientific breakthrough, they called it. But I ran away. Wonsik looked after me when I came back. I was practically back to my old self when you and I met.”

It’s a brief version of the story, but it’s enough; it’s like Jaehwan sees him through new eyes now, a layer of Taekwoon’s soul having shed in front of him and revealed a different man than who he knew. “I’m just… it sounds so unbelievable. It’s sick.”

“Yeah, it’s true. I wish it wasn’t.” Taekwoon leans back after his explanation, never having been that comfortable in the limelight even before his trauma. Hongbin is slowly zoning out, staring ahead and absently noticing his gaze on him. “You okay?”

He blinks and meets Taekwoon’s eyes. “Yeah, I just… I need a moment.” He gets up and shuffles over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a heavy sigh. It feels as though this will never end; the pain, the panic. And the thought of his murders being investigated, having to truly face the consequences of his actions… He’s not sure how to handle that.

Taekwoon follows him after a few moments, standing next to him. He doesn’t say anything, seemingly letting him start.

“The police are looking for the murderer,” he says. “Of the last man I killed.”

“They didn’t look after your previous missions?”

“I’m sure they did. I never really saw the results of what I did. I assume it was swept under the rug somehow. Important people… disappearing. I never had to deal with what comes after.”

“It wasn’t you,” says Taekwoon.

“Wasn’t it?” He looks Taekwoon square in the eyes. “I may have been brainwashed, but it was still me who did it. I can remember each one. How I killed them. So was it really not me?”

“It may have been your hands that killed them,” says Taekwoon, “but you did what you were told to do. I remember that. There was no free will. Only orders. Now you have free will, and you can do what you want. But _now,_ your actions will have consequences that you can see.”

“I’m not protected by the Company anymore. What if the police find me?” He hates how small his voice sounds, he’s so tired of being scared.

“They probably know that your actual target got away.” Taekwoon shrugs. “It’s not unlikely that they’ll make this go away, too. We’ll figure it out if we need to. Are _you_ okay?” It’s the second time he asks, as if he knows; perhaps he can tell that there’s more to his distress than this.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he slides down to the floor, letting out a long and shaky sigh. “I don’t— I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m so exhausted by everything. It’s like all of it is going to be with me forever.”

Taekwoon sits next to him on the floor, close enough that he allows his head to loll onto Taekwoon’s shoulder. “It takes time,” Taekwoon says, and Hongbin feels his fingers slowly winding their way into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He lets it happen, although unused to this kind of closeness; the chills going down his neck and arms are thrilling in a way. He could sit like this for a while, he thinks. “You’re not going to heal overnight from what’s been working at you your entire life. You need to work on it, and just let time pass. It’ll still be there, but it’ll become less and less defining. It won’t consume you as much.”

“How long did that take for you?”

“Oh, I had nightmares for a long time,” Taekwoon admits. “And numerous breakdowns. That’s why I’m telling you, it takes time. But eventually you’ll be okay — not perfect, but okay.”

In lieu of replying, he leans further into Taekwoon’s touch, eyes sliding shut. If he’s going to deal with this his whole life, it’s comforting to know he has people who understand him, and care for him. Maybe soon he can finally start to shed some of that pain and guilt off his shoulders.

As both Taekwoon and Hongbin disappear in the kitchen, Jaehwan and Wonsik are left in their spots, a somewhat awkward silence hanging in the air.

“Why didn’t any of you tell me about this?” There’s a look of hurt on Jaehwan’s face, barely concealed. Oh, the pain of being the one left out. “I mean, you did know you could trust me with this before, right?”

Rubbing his face, Wonsik sighs. “Jaehwan… Like Taekwoon said, it happened before we met you. After he came back, he just wanted to go back to how his life used to be. He didn’t really want to dwell on it once his heart started to heal. It’s not because he didn’t trust you, it’s just a painful part of his past and he’s only revisiting it now because Hongbin is like him. You get that, right? It’s got to be a terrible thing to relive.”

“Yeah, I’m still… It’s kind of unbelievable,” says Jaehwan softly, slumping back in his seat. “It just sounds like something that’s far away, you know? I didn’t expect you guys to just spring that on me, that it’s actually true. I expected a casual discussion or something, but… shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Wonsik smiles a little sadly. “I’m sorry we kept it from you. You’re our friend, too.”

“I admit I’m kind of hurt, but I’ll get over it.” He waves Wonsik off. “It wasn’t your place to tell me. And there’s never really a great time to mention something like that anyway. It’s just too… big. ‘Hey Jaehwan, want to come over for dinner and talk about our friends’ traumatic pasts which involves the government’s nefarious plans?’”

Despite the situation, Wonsik snorts out a laugh. “It’s not the worst way to put it.” The thing about Jaehwan is that he always makes things brighter just by being himself. Given how the past few days have been, they all probably need some of that joy that he brings. “Just remember you can treat them the same as before. Taekwoon is the same person you’ve known all along. Hongbin too, in a way. I guess you haven’t known each other that long. Maybe they’ll tell you more about it. I’m not sure I know that much myself.”

“Taekwoon didn’t tell you?” Jaehwan inches a little closer, eyes curious, inquiring.

“Not many details. Said it hurt too much. He told me the most important things. What they did to him, taking his emotions away; that they made him fight and kill… But the details were too much.” With time he did tell a more elaborate version of what happened to him, even certain details, memories that needed processing when he woke up from nightmares — but in the end Wonsik doesn’t know a whole lot more than Jaehwan.

He gets a somber nod in response. Then Jaehwan’s expression hardens. “Fuck, I can’t believe someone would do something like that. To real people… Don’t you think we need to _do_ something? Stop what is happening?”

The pain of imagining his friends going through what they did is evident on his face — it’s as though he’s about to stand up and march _somewhere_ right away, as though he’ll avenge them all by himself. “I’m not sure there’s much the four of us can do,” says Wonsik. “Maybe someday, but not like this. Not just us.”

“Maybe not just the four of us,” mumbles Jaehwan.

“Right now I just want to see my friends be okay,” says Wonsik. “I think we can do something about that.”

“Yeah.”

Jaehwan is still quiet, gaze distant. Wonsik kicks gently at his foot to get his attention. “Hey.” He looks back at Wonsik. “That means you too.”

Smiling a little shyly, Jaehwan nods. “Okay, yeah. We can do that.”

 

✧✧✧

 

The nightmares don't stop coming.

Taekwoon is the one who finds him this time, gently holding him as he shakes, tears staining his shirt, but he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t say much at all, just allows him to let it all out. It’s comforting. He finally feels able to calm down from his nightmares a little faster, like maybe it’s getting better, if only a little.

“Thanks,” he says, a little into Taekwoon’s shoulder.

“Don’t mention it.” Taekwoon strokes his back gently. “Do you want to go out for a walk? I’d like some fresh air.”

They go to a nearby park, empty and quiet at such an early hour. Snowflakes are falling peacefully to the ground outside. The air is crisp and cold, and Hongbin takes steaming breaths, eyes wide in wonderment at the little things to appreciate in the world. With so many terrible things, there needs to be a balance, right?

Taekwoon buries half of his face into his scarf, but his eyes are smiling, gazing at the sky. “I love it when it snows. It’s so calming to watch.”

“I never understood how beautiful it was,” says Hongbin absently. “I didn’t have the capacity to appreciate it back then. But it’s amazing.”

He draws a line in the snow with the tip of his shoe, listening to Taekwoon hum some melody quietly. “Does it ever get better?” he asks, after some time.

It’s a little out of the blue, but Taekwoon understands. Of course he does. “It does,” he says. “Not entirely, not perfect, but it does get better. At least it did for me.”

Another cloud of warm breath escapes as Hongbin sighs. “How did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Taekwoon admits. “I had help. Wonsik was… integral to my recovery. I couldn’t tell anyone else. Not even Jaehwan knows. He just knows I disappeared and came back different. But just living out here in the real world… Eventually I came to the realization that although it was important to acknowledge the trauma I went through, I couldn’t wallow in my pain and hurt forever. With time, you just heal, slowly but surely. You will, too.”

“Do you think so?” There’s a pause, and before Taekwoon can reply, Hongbin adds, “I mean… You had a life before all of it. This has _been_ my life. When I went back there, I had the opportunity to go back to that. I wanted to. Who's to say I won't take that chance if given it again?”

“If you really wanted it,” says Taekwoon gently, “would you have come back to us?” He places a hand on Hongbin’s, making eye contact with him. “You’re not on your own, Hongbin. Wonsik and I, we’ll be here for you when you struggle with your mind. We won’t let you go back there. And one day, your life in freedom will be longer than your life in captivity. Because you know better now. You know that there is something better out here.”

He’s so kind and understanding, so caring, and Hongbin can’t help but smile; if a little sad at all that has transpired, he still feels lucky to have found friends who care for him. In the beginning he saw Wonsik and Taekwoon as his saviors, as people who were protecting him, nursing him, perhaps. He never had any in the past. Now he’s starting to understand what friendship means.

Yet, with his friendships and the security they offer, in the back of his mind is still the feeling of unease. “They’re going to find others, you know.” Someone else to become the Mercenary, someone else whose life will be taken from them because he couldn’t take it.

“I know.” Taekwoon leans back on the bench and looks up at the pale night sky, where snow is still falling, landing on his eyelashes. “They’ll find someone else to break. They won’t stop.”

“Should we be doing something about it?” It comes out a little more meek than he intended; he wants this to be over, for the nightmare to end — but in some way he feels a responsibility, as someone who knows from first-hand experience what the government is doing, to try to stop it. But he is only one person, and Taekwoon is only one more, and he has no idea what they could possibly do. “I just… I feel like I need to.”

“I don’t know,” says Taekwoon. “To be honest, I feel the same… Right now, though, you need to focus on getting better. You can’t stand up to them with everything still so fresh. It’ll only hurt you.”

Hongbin breathes out, humming noncommittally. He doesn’t know what kind of answer he was looking for, but he still finds that what he got wasn’t entirely satisfying. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get well enough to do anything.

“I’ll say this, though,” continues Taekwoon, “something has to be done. But you can’t do it alone. And you won’t. If a chance comes up, we’ll… do whatever we need. Just remember that it’s not all on you. No matter what happens.”

He doesn’t have a reply, so he just nods in understanding, even though he’s not sure if he truly believes it. But hearing it… hearing it is a start. “Taekwoon… Thank you. For everything.”

Taekwoon smiles, that kind smile, that makes Hongbin feel safe. “We have to stick together in times like these,” he says. “Let’s go back inside.”

 

✧✧✧

 

“It’s been a while since it was just us two,” says Wonsik as he hands Hongbin the controller of his game console. “How are you?”

It’s been quite a calm day; Jaehwan and Taekwoon were both busy, Wonsik had some work to do, and so Hongbin was on his own. For once, it wasn’t too difficult to be alone with his own thoughts. Instead, when he thought about the things he has done, he was able to change his thinking, to think about his friends, how lucky he is to be safe and free for the first time in his life. Remind himself that there is more to what happened than him. That _he_ is more than that.

Now, he starts up their usual game, browsing through characters idly while he speaks. “Today was okay. I actually went outside for a bit. No panic attacks, even though I did feel a bit paranoid. Kind of exposed. But it didn’t go too badly.” He feels more comfortable talking, in general, but especially helpful is being comfortable talking about his healing process. It’s strange to call it that, but Wonsik dubbed it as such, telling him it would be good to put words to everything that was going on. That’s how Taekwoon came to the place he is now, he said. Talking things out. So Hongbin is working on it. He wants to be better, to be a real person.

“That’s good news!” Wonsik is optimistic as always, constantly supportive. “I’m happy to hear that. Especially because I’m about to crush you at this game.”

He snorts. “You wish. I’ve had days to practice while you were busy.” He meets Wonsik’s eyes for a moment, a small smile on his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” says Wonsik, turning back to the game. “I just think you’re starting to find out who you are.” And he starts the game before Hongbin can ask what he means.

Hongbin does in fact win over Wonsik, almost effortlessly. He pumps his fists in the air and laughs at Wonsik who exaggeratedly flops over in defeat. “Told you you couldn’t win over me!” he teases.

“Fine, you win this time,” Wonsik grumbles playfully. “Don’t expect that to happen again!”

Hongbin grins, leaning back and sipping his drink. They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, until he can’t contain himself and asks, “What did you mean, I’m finding out who I am?”

“Oh.” Wonsik looks down at his hands, still smiling, in what looks like fondness. “I just meant… you’re becoming your own person. Apart from what you’ve been through. It’s nice to see. I’m glad that you’re not holding on too hard to your past. God knows that can’t be easy, but you’re doing it. So, I’m just happy for you.”

Warmth spreads in Hongbin’s chest, to his throat and cheeks. He didn’t know what he expected to hear, but he certainly did not expect such kind and pure words. Wonsik has been there for him from the beginning, looking after him, and to hear that he’s proud of his progress is more than he could have wished for. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I mean, I don’t know where I would have been if you hadn’t taken me in. Your kindness really changed everything. You gave me a second chance. I’ll be eternally grateful for that.”

“I’m really glad I did. That I decided to trust you.” Wonsik places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You deserve it.”

There’s still the question burning inside Hongbin’s head, wondering, wondering. This seems as good a time as any to ask it, he decides. “I’ve been asking myself,” he says, “why did you do it? Take me in, I mean. I could have turned out to be more dangerous than I have been. I could have hurt you. I almost did. What— what made you let me in?”

“Ah, I guess it’s a little weird, right?” Wonsik says, thoughtful. “I don’t know what it was, really… I was aware you could be dangerous, but when I saw you, you just looked so lost. I didn’t think you were threatening, and I was just planning to let you stay the night. But, well, you didn’t have anywhere else. You still looked lost, and I… I guess I saw some of Taekwoon in you, so I had my suspicions about what happened to you, even before you told me. And, I don’t know, I’ve always just felt like if I can’t do anything about what the Company is doing, then at least I can do my part to help someone who’s been scarred by them.

“I care about you, Hongbin, I really do. At first I wasn’t sure I made the right choice, but I’m so glad you’re still here. I just want to be a friend that you can rely on.”

He feels his eyes sting, a familiar sensation from all he has cried in the past month or more, but this time it’s different; he’s not scared or in pain, or upset. He’s feeling something else, so why is he crying? “What the—” He wipes at his eyes in confusion. “Why is this happening?”

Wonsik chuckles warmly. “Happy tears, maybe?”

“I didn’t realize that you can cry out of happiness,” he mumbles, bewildered. “That’s weird.”

“Hopefully you’ll have more of that,” says Wonsik, enveloping him in a hug.

It’s warm and comforting, he finds, burrowing his face in Wonsik’s shoulder and holding him a little tighter. “This is nice,” he says and sniffles lightly. These damn happy tears.

“Good,” says Wonsik into his neck. “‘Cause you’re getting so many of these from now on.”

Hongbin feels him chuckle again, a rumble that touches him as well. He thinks he’ll enjoy these hugs. “Thank you so much,” he says quietly. “For all of this.”

“Thank _you,_ ” says Wonsik, “for giving me hope for the future.”

They sit like that for a few more moments. When they pull apart, they sit and talk about different things, about things that don’t matter, about things that do. They play more games — Hongbin wins most of them, but Wonsik pulls through as well, cheering his success, and things feel good.

When he goes to sleep, it’s peaceful and dreamless.

 

✧✧✧

 

He almost doesn’t hear the door clicking closed, signalling Taekwoon’s quiet entrance. He’s not up yet, just barely awake — his dreams were quiet, for once — but he turns and blinks blearily when Taekwoon sits at the edge of his bed.

“I, uh— I had a nightmare,” Taekwoon whispers, gaze only meeting his briefly. “Just needed to see another person.”

Oh. “A nightmare, like…?”

“Yeah, like yours.” Taekwoon smiles wryly.

Hongbin sits up and makes space for him to sit further onto the bed. From what he’s been told, Taekwoon has been doing extremely well for a long time since he escaped the army. This is strange. “Is it because of me?” he says hesitantly, not wanting to make this about himself but wondering if this is his fault, if his presence brings back bad memories that Taekwoon would rather keep tucked in the far, far back of his mind. He knows he would prefer that himself.

Taekwoon shrugs, seeming absent. “It might be,” he says earnestly. “But I don’t know. I have these days every now and then, before you came along too.”

“It never really goes away, huh?” Hongbin sighs. It’s sad to see his friend suffer the same way he has. Even though, in a sick way, he feels relieved to have someone who understands his feelings and experience, and traumas, he simply wishes things were different. That they could be friends in a different situation.

“Sadly not…” Scooting a bit closer, Taekwoon leans into him, seeking warmth, comfort. Hongbin holds his hand carefully. They’ve become more comfortable with touch recently; they both find some comfort in it, especially with each other.

“Maybe when we’re old and forgetful we’ll finally have peace,” says Hongbin, smiling despite himself. Taekwoon chuckles softly into his shoulder, squeezes his hand gently.

“Maybe.”

They’re silent for some time, eventually lying back down in what resembles a cuddling position. “I dreamed about the corrections,” Taekwoon whispers, then corrects himself, “The torture, I mean.” It’s hard to change one’s wording, when they have been taught that what they were put through was a correction, fixing something that was wrong with them, even though it was nothing but torture and brainwashing. Hongbin is still working on reminding himself that.

Taekwoon continues, “Usually you don’t feel pain in dreams, right? But… I must remember it, because it felt fresh. Like when it happened for real.” Hongbin doesn’t reply, just lets him speak, as he’s been allowed to do. “It was hellish… I begged so many times for them to just kill me, it would be better, but they never did. I’m glad now, but… back then, I longed for it.” He takes a breath, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t even want to think about how I could have been if I was still there.”

“At peace,” mumbles Hongbin. “Until the feelings come back every now and then and everything is hell again.”

“You spent your whole life there… Oh, Hongbin.” Taekwoon squeezes his hand tighter, and Hongbin knows the sadness he feels for him is genuine. His heart seems to do a little squeeze as well.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says. “Well, it does, but I’m dealing with it. Living with it. Thanks to you guys, I actually feel good. I never felt like that before.” And he’s being genuine, as well. In his past life, because of the brainwashes, he never felt anything but peace. But peace doesn’t mean happiness, only freedom of disturbance. The longer he spends with his new friends, the more small moments of happiness he has, the more he feels that he’s on his way to some sort of normality. To some sort of recovery, and freedom. Even though the knowledge that Taekwoon still has nightmares is somewhat disturbing, at least he has people to help him through it. They have each other.

“You’ll have many happy moments in the future,” promises Taekwoon, his eyes warm and kind, and Hongbin knows he’s right. He’d believe anything this man tells him.

In the silence of his room, Hongbin and Taekwoon slowly drift off in the safety of each other’s arms. Everything may not be perfect, or even close, but he has Taekwoon. He has Wonsik and Jaehwan. His own little family, as he’s started to see them. And somehow he’ll get better. Somehow he’ll learn who Lee Hongbin is, and how to be him.

He has already started.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments are most appreciated, and you can also find me on twitter [@wolfodder](http://www.twitter.com/wolfodder)!


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